


Language of the Body

by DragoJustine



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-02
Updated: 2008-11-02
Packaged: 2017-12-17 20:17:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/871540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragoJustine/pseuds/DragoJustine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Jared is a dancer.  And bendy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Language of the Body

Jared was finishing his fifteenth run-through when the door to the practice space opened. He could feel sweat pouring down the planes of his shoulder blades and back, feel his quads trembling after four hours of practice today and a matinée performance and an hour afterwards of beating himself up in this back room. 

He was so close-- there was so much to keep together, and memorizing choreography he could do, and power and strength and flexibility he could do, but grace seemed like asking a bit much. His parents would shake their heads in bafflement, not understanding why he kept practicing after everything looked fine to them. But it wasn't just about where you put your legs and your arms, it was also about how you held your hands, where you showed tension, which direction you tilted your head-- a thousand details to keep right every second, and then you had to make it look graceful and easy. Jared wasn't a perfectionist by nature, so sometimes he hated this fucking sport. Sometimes like these, when he was _so close_...

Then the door opened, and the bowlegged guy walked in. Jared wasn't sure who he was; lighting maybe, or general techie? Didn't know his name, because he had just started in the last week or two and Jared hadn't been paying attention to a damn thing since the company put him on probation. But he knew he was "the bowlegged guy" because, well. It was hard to stop watching him when he walked, all easy "just swung off my horse" roll to his movement. 

Sexy or not, Jared had no desire to have anybody see his level of frustration. "Room's in use," he said, scooping up his towel to scrub at his hair and the back of his neck. 

"Yup," mystery guy said, and leaned down to pick the "Room closed for maintenance" sign off the floor. He waggled it in Jared's direction. "It's just that I'm the one using it." Then he opened the door to stick the sign back up where Jared had peeled it down from.

Jared braced his forearms against the mirrored wall and let his forehead drop against them. It took everything he had not to sound like a whiny kid. "Man, just fifteen minutes?" 

"This needs to get done now." The guy started hauling a ladder through the door and setting it up. Jared could see him in the mirror, glancing uncertainly Jared's way. "Sorry." 

He actually sounded like he meant it, a little.

Jared debated cueing his music back up, but the ladder was right in his line and God, he was tired. He turned around and lowered himself down to the floor, then figured he should at least pretend to be stretching. "What's your name?" he asked.

"Jensen." 

The guy swung himself easily up the ladder, right up to the second highest step, with his shins braced against the highest. Jared was pretty sure the ladder was covered all over with safety warning signs against exactly that, but far be it from him.

Jensen lifted his arms to start working on some kind of ceiling panel. His black tshirt rode up just enough to show a line of stomach. Jensen didn't have a six pack. A nice stomach. Flat and taut. Strong. Just enough of a layer over the muscles to not show the definition. Jared wondered what that would feel like under his hands. Six months of being single and pushing himself to the athletic limits and slinging around 90-pound ballerinas, he'd lost all sight of what a normal man's body felt like. Would taste like, if he ran his tongue over the little dimples alongside Jensen's spine, right above his ass.

Jared shook his head hard and stood. No time for crap like that.

"This'll go faster if you help me," Jensen called.

"What do you need?"

"Philips head, medium" 

Jared's expression must have shown on his face, because the guy gave a husky kind of noise that might have been the start of a laugh. "Toolbucket, medium sized screwdriver with the green handle."

Jared got it and went over to hand it up. Jensen's lowered hand was just out of reach, and Jared waited for him to bend down farther for it before realizing he probably couldn't without losing his balance. Or, more to the point, overbalancing the ladder. He had just lowered his arm for an easy underarm toss when Jensen snapped his fingers sharply and said "You throw that at me, I'll kick your ass. Tippy-toes. I betcha can do that." 

Jared laughed then, deep and full-throated and genuine, startled himself a bit with the suddenness of it. He had to lean against the ladder for a few moments before he could get it together enough to wipe the tears from his eyes and push up to demi-pointe, holding the screwdriver by the very end until Jensen could close his fingers around the handle.

When he looked up, Jensen was blushing bright red. "What?" Jensen asked, reaching up to unscrew whatever and not meeting Jared's eyes.

"Nothing. I just don't think I've heard the word tippy-toes since I was four years old. I needed that, man." 

"Yeah, well, we can't all speak French." But Jensen looked a little reassured.

Jensen asked if he'd seen the results of last night's Spurs game, and Jared had to admit he hadn't. No idea how Jensen had known he was the only guy in the company who gave a damn about sports, let alone who his team was, but Jensen gave him the score and the highlight reel. Man, did he regret not having that fourth quarter on his DVR to watch. Maybe he should start recording them again. 

The small talk sat a little awkwardly on Jensen, like he might be the kind of guy who would prefer to just work in silence, but the guy knew his sports and it felt so good to just talk to somebody, just talk about something other than the company and his probation and the performance. Jared couldn't have stopped if he'd tried, and after five or ten minutes Jensen seemed to relax out of his awkwardness and settle in to the conversation, with easy prompting and a few sly jokes.

Jared tried to remember if he'd ever seen Jensen talk to any of the other technicians like this, and wished he'd been paying more attention. 

Jensen finally finished and climbed down the ladder. Jared held the door for him while he wrangled the ladder out and pulled the maintenance sign off the door again. He leaned the ladder against the wall outside and stood for a moment, one hand raised awkwardly, like there were words on the tip of his tongue. Then he gave a tiny half-shake, half-shrug, and turned the gesture into a wave goodbye.

"Wait," Jared said.

He caught Jensen around the wrist (a solid wrist, no fragility there, blunt square fingernails and calluses on the finger tips and tendons down the back of his hand and Jesus, even the lines on the guy's knuckles were hot) and pulled him back inside. "You maybe have a minute to play audience?"

Jensen shot him a completely unreadable look out of shockingly green eyes, then slid down the wall to sit on the floor by the door. Jared crossed the room to cue up his music and waited by one wall, head up, breathing carefully. 

_Center. Calm. You know this. Every muscle in your body knows this. Just get out of the way._

He was acutely conscious of the thin, clinging material of his pants, of his bare chest and sweat-sheened back. The very thought of those bright green eyes on him made his nipples harden into tight nubs. The near-nudity felt acutely sexual in a way it never did on stage.

Just at that moment, Jensen licked his lips. Jared almost missed his opening cue.

It felt good. Of the thousands of little details, dozens were wrong, but it felt good. Not easy, but it felt like it looked easy (a whole different feeling; its own type of satisfaction). Not graceful, but strong. Powerful. Intense. It felt good. 

The series of leaps just soared. He landed perfectly in control and finished out the segment, hitting the ending roll to the ground, landing stretched out half pushed up on one arm, facing upstage, knowing Jensen could see the dramatic lines of his back and arms, the bunching of his muscles and tracks of his sweat. He lay there for a slow count of five, then pushed up to go turn the music off. He didn't turn around to face Jensen.

Halfway to the stereo, he tripped over his own feet. Jensen muffled a little snort of laughter. 

When he turned, Jensen was sitting with his knees pulled up and arms linked around his shins, worrying a little at his bottom lip. 

"So what do you-- I mean, how--" 

"That was amazing. Intense. That was freakin amazing." Jensen seemed a little hoarse.

Jared felt his face split in a grin. Oh, thank God. "You really-- you really think so? What about that cabriole, I thought that might have been a little--"

"It was hot," Jensen said, with an air of complete finality.

"You think so? Because it felt a little off-balance."

"It was hot," Jensen repeated, and Jared clued in.

"You don't have a clue which part I'm talking about, do you?" 

"Nope," Jensen said, and one corner of his mouth quirked up in what Jared could only call a smirk. 

"Oh. Okay. Right, then." Off balance was right. Everything about this was off-balance; his frustration as he practiced turning to exhilaration turning now to embarrassment, his desperation for Jensen to see him turning now to acute awkwardness at having been seen... He couldn't read Jensen at all, and what the hell were they _doing_ here anyway?

Jensen extended his hand and Jared grabbed it automatically. He hauled Jensen to his feet in a single motion, center of gravity backward and arm flexing, smooth and easy, and Jensen came up like he weighed nothing but then he was there, right in Jared's space, solid and radiating heat and only bare inches shorter. His eyes were still very, very green.

"Hey," Jensen said. "Let me take you out, buy you a drink." 

"I shouldn't," Jared said, finally remembering to let go Jensen's hand.

"Okay. Let me take you down to the staff lounge and buy you a nasty electrolyte-laden sports drink." 

Okay. So this was what they were doing after all. Okay. "One sec." 

Jared collected his music, then walked over to where his shirt and his towel lay in the corner. He let himself fold at the hips, hang over with his hands resting on the ground. Took a minute to let gravity stretch out his back and his neck and the muscles in his shoulders.

Behind him, Jensen made a slight choking sound.

Jared snatched up the shirt and towel and straightened. "What?" he asked, echo of Jensen's defensive line from before. 

"Nothing. You're just... really bendy. That's all." 

Jared waggled his eyebrows very deliberately. "Oh, you have no idea." 

It was kind of wonderful, how easy it was to make Jensen blush. 

They headed out and down the backstairs to the lower level. Jared was a bit startled when Jensen made an unexpected turn down an unfamiliar hallway and swiped his cardkey through a lock. He had rather thought they were going to get out of here and get straight down to business, but apparently Jensen was serious about the staff lounge.

The lounge was shabby and stuffed with upholstery-leaking chairs and sofas, with a kitchenette and vending machines at the far end. Jared suspected that if this were 2 hours after an evening performance, instead of two hours after the matinee, Jensen's plan might have worked out great. As it was, nearly every seat was taken by techs Jared vaguely recognized or stagehands all in black. Jared hovered awkwardly inside the door and tried to be invisible while Jensen threaded his way through the messy space. 

"Dude! Bad form! No performers in the sanctuary!" A bald-headed guy threw some popcorn Jensen's way. 

"Kane's a performer," Jensen answered, flicking the cowboy hat of a guy Jared thought he might have seen on promo posters. 

"Kane doesn't count. He's special." 

Jensen hit the vending machines and spun on his heel. "Oooh, Kane. Mike just called you special. You gonna stand for that?" Then, with hardly a pause to watch the chaos he sowed, "Jared. Lime, Strawberry, or Orange?" 

"Strawberry." 

Jensen punched his quarters into the machine and wove back through the lounge, elbowing Mike as he passed. "Ignore him, he's an asshole," he said, loud enough to carry. "Later, guys."

As the door closed behind them, Jared tried to suppress a pang of unexpected envy. The casual relaxation, the easy familiarity, the friendly crowd... he tried to remember the last time he had felt like that. 

Long time. Jared accepted the bottle, twisted the cap off, and tilted his head back to drain it. Long time. Didn't matter, because he was living the fucking dream. Gotta make sacrifices for that, right? 

By the time he lowered the empty bottle, Jensen was staring at him with lust-glazed eyes. Jared wasn't sure how it was even possible to look seductive while you drank half a liter straight down like some kind of freakish camel, but apparently he managed. 

_Yeah, so you're lonely. So what? You are getting laid tonight._

Jared dropped his bottle in the trash and was debating the various storage closets he knew of (Jensen would probably know better, should just ask him), when Jensen said, "So can I give you a lift home?" 

Jensen must have seen him walking home at nights. Just like he saw him wearing the Spurs tshirt to rehearsals. "Yeah, okay. Just let me get my stuff." 

The ride was all of three blocks, and managed to be steeped in tension anyway. Jared's sweat smelled strong in the tiny car, and Jesus, he wanted to _touch_ \-- to _be touched_ \-- so badly he couldn’t take it. His voice felt rough and husky as he pointed Jensen to the parking space he never used, and Jensen's hands slid over the worn wrapping of the steering wheel, caressed the shiny knob of the gearshift, and Jared was sure the arousal must be coming off him in waves. 

Jensen stood right behind him, not touching, and Jared felt every inch of his skin prickling as he wrangled with the lock on the door. He let Jensen in to the tiny space, one room, bed and chair TV and kitchenette and doors to closet and bathroom, strewn with warmup clothes and DVDs and video game cases. Jensen slipped inside behind him and Jared had to fight down the urge to apologize, to start picking up clothes and tidying.

Jensen didn’t give him a chance.

They hit the bare space of wall next to the door hard, Jared’s shoulder blades slamming against plaster as Jensen crowded up against him. Jensen ran his hands over Jared’s chest and shoulders, roving and squeezing, and then rubbed his thumbs in little circles over Jared’s nipples. Jared felt his hips jerk and roll hard against Jensen’s at that, and Jensen gave that same husky half-laugh in his ear.

“Yeah, yeah, just like that. Jesus _fuck_ , so hot.” 

He had been right, watching Jensen up on that ladder; Jensen’s stomach was taut but not hard, skin dry and warm, just enough flesh around his hips to knead in his hands on his way down to cupping Jensen’s ass. It was perfect, fucking perfect under his hands, a body, a real body, not dance-warped, unmistakable and male and solid against his chest and straining cock.

Jensen pulled back a bit, gave an uncomfortable sort of twitch at that. “Yeah, grab those love-handles,” he muttered, sounding awkward and just a little bitter, and Jared groaned and squeezed with both hands, sliding his fingers down to the lower curve of his ass and backs of his thighs. 

“You’re an idiot,” he gasped. “God, you’re gorgeous. Just-- fuck. I have to-- damn it.”

He peeled his hands away reluctantly, slid out from between Jensen and the wall. He dug his sweaty shirt and towel out and dumped them in the laundry hamper, then pulled his dance shoes out of their mesh bag and set them out to dry. Jared found himself wondering, a little inanely, exactly how getting laid tonight would mess with his evaluation tomorrow. What if he couldn’t dance at all, without that nervous energy? It wasn't like this had happened to him since he started here. 

Then Jared glanced up to see Jensen watching him, one shoulder leaning against the wall, looking flushed and a little glazed. He thought, _screw it, maybe I'll dance better_ , and squared his shoulders. 

“I need to shower.” He reached out to touch Jensen’s side again. “I’m disgusting, sorry, but I’ll be fast. Please, I want you to stay.” And it was true; he was. Jared could feel the itchy tackiness of half-dried sweat all over him, and he still had wet beads of it sliding down his sides under his shirt and neck under his hair. 

But Jensen just said, “No, you’re not,” and tilted his head to lick a stripe up Jared’s neck, catching two fat drops of sweat on his tongue and leaving a cold, tingling, sparking trail behind. He closed his lips around Jared’s earlobe and tugged, and Jared moaned, completely helpless. 

They stumbled to the bathroom, discarding their clothes in a pile on the only scrap of bare carpet. Jared couldn’t stop looking, couldn’t tear his eyes away from the hollow of Jensen’s throat and the sparse trail of hair down his chest like an arrow and his cock rising hard and dark and perfect at the end of it. Jensen caught Jared around the wrist like he was afraid Jared was going to run off, and maybe he had been hovering by the bathroom door, but only because he was half-afraid that if he actually touched they would both spontaneously combust. 

Jensen growled low in frustration, and Jared had to lean over to jiggle the tricky shower handle, but then they were in.

The water hit Jared’s shoulders in stinging needles, and he groped for the soap, lathering up and spreading it over Jensen’s chest, sides, stomach. Just before he could reach for Jensen’s cock, Jensen pressed up flush against him, sliding and rubbing on the slick lather between them, rolling his body in dirty delicious waves against Jared. He grabbed the soap and started on Jared’s back, the spread of his shoulder blades and line of his spine, the cut muscles over his hips and curve of his ass. Jared let his head fall back against the wall of the shower and moaned.

Jensen leaned in and kissed him, pressed his lips over Jared’s and covered him there the way he was covering him everywhere else, lips sliding together wet and rough. The feeling of moaning into Jensen’s mouth was intensely hot. Jensen sucked on his lower lip and then slid his tongue into Jared’s mouth in a casually possessive thrust, and Jared shook, and tried to bite back the needy sounds in his throat, and gave up. 

When Jensen sank down onto the molded plastic seat in the corner of the stall, Jared’s knees almost gave out completely. Because Jensen wrapped his hands around Jared’s hips and drew him in, and he was watching Jared’s cock like it was the last chocolate in the universe, like he was a starving man, like there was nothing in the world he wanted except to get his lips wrapped it. When he did, it was rough and eager and very, very wet, and Jensen made tiny choking gasping moaning sounds around Jared's cock, and Jared pounded his fist into the shower tile -- _hard_ \-- to keep from leaving finger dents in the back of Jensen's skull, and came.

"Huh," Jensen said, a little while later. 

The ' _that was fast_ ' hung in the air between them, and Jared felt his cheeks flare red as he muttered, "shut up." 

Jensen didn't seem to hear, just stood to press his body against Jared's again, cock insistent and hot against the crease of his thigh. "That was-- the way you-- Dear God, but I want to fuck you, Jared." 

His breath was hot and moist against the line of Jared's jaw, and Jared's whole body gave an involuntary after-shock. He somehow managed to summon the strength to wrench himself around, brace his forearms on the tile, prop one foot up on the seat Jensen vacated to spread himself wide. "Second drawer," he said, breathless gasp without words, and his whole body trembled at the ghost of muscle memory, what it would feel like to be opened, taken, filled.

The click of the shower door opening didn't sound before Jensen's hands were back on him, down the curve of his back and around his sides. Jared lifted his head and tried to summon some joke, something about wearing a raincoat or remember to wrap his present or _who the fuck knows_ , but if he had to kick Jensen out for being a no-condom asshole it would ruin his whole _week_. 

"I just say that and you turn and spread for me." Jensen gripped the globes of Jared's ass, spreading a little, one thumb tracing down his crack. Jensen's voice actually shook, just a little, but his hands didn't. "Holy shit, but that's something to see." One hand came up, brushed Jared's hair aside, then Jensen's lips were working down the back of his neck, hot breath and deliberate scrape of teeth. Jared shook, arched backwards, tried to figure out what he'd been worrying about and how to get Jensen to fuck him _right now_.

"Didn't mean in here. Didn't mean right this second. Let's get you dry." Then the shower door did click open, Jensen flicking the water off with one hand and reaching around to the towel rack with the other. He draped the towel over Jared's shoulders, threadbare and washed-grey and nowhere near warm enough to stave off goosebumps, or wouldn't have been if Jared wasn't running hotter than a furnace this minute. 

Jared thought he ought to be participating somehow, getting the other towel and drying Jensen, saying something, at least turning and lifting his arms as Jensen dried him all over with gentle, soothing strokes. But he was stupid with want, single-minded like a kid who saw his candy taken away, and all he managed to say was, "Where, then? Bed?" 

He dropped the towel on the floor, and just saw Jensen out of the corner of his eyes grab it and rub it quick over his own hair and chest and arms before he flung himself down on the bed and couldn't see anything anymore. The bathroom drawer did open, though, and then slam closed again, which was good because hell if he was stopping for another intermission. 

Jared rolled onto his back, grabbed his legs behind the knees, and pulled himself up, ass off the bed and spread wide. Jensen came around the frame of the bathroom door, double-taked, and promptly tripped over the "Without dance, what's the pointe?" sweatshirt on the floor.

"I guess when I said you were bendy, I, uh… really wasn't jokin'." 

"You can see my splits later," Jared said, trying to sound cocksure and snarky instead of in pieces begging. He pulled his thighs a little wider, just because he could; just to see Jensen swallow hard and lick his lips.

"Maybe take you up on that." Jensen knelt up onto the bed between his legs. A few minutes later he pressed his thumb back against Jared's hole, cold and slippery this time, pressing in little circling rubs. 

He spent forever at it, taking Jared with slow, firm, steady fingers. When Jared bucked up for more, he ran his other hand over Jared's thighs, cradled his balls, slid up his chest to circle a thumb over his nipple until Jared finally went limp and shaking and let him keep at his own pace. When he had come out here, Jared had been desperate to be fucked, through the mattress, hard and pounding and mindless and to hell with the fact that he'd just come, its own kind of pleasure completely aside from coming. But under Jensen's hands the other arousal came back, gathering slow and inexorable in his belly.

"What the hell are you _waiting_ for?" he finally asked.

"Gonna watch you get hard again, before I fuck you." Jared opened his eyes and Jensen _was_ , was staring fixedly at him with green eyes gone wide and dark and intent, mouth half open on his panting breaths and lips spit-shiny from how he must have been licking them or sucking on them, watching Jared writhe.

That fucking well did it, and Jared gasped out, "I _am_ , for God's sake," and seconds later Jensen rolled on the condom and gave one last stroke of slick and pushed into him, sure and easy. 

Jensen fucked him hard and steady and merciless. He stretched down to kiss Jared, and huffed a laugh against the curve of his lips. "What?" Jared asked, torn between defensiveness and helpless want. 

Jensen answered in gasps between thrusts, forehead pressed to Jared's cheekbone and hands clenching convulsively on his hips. "Just… how easy it is… to reach your mouth, Gumby." 

Jared clenched and fluttered his muscles around Jensen, dragging his attention back where it belonged, and that was all the talking there was until Jared arched and came, shuddering and gripping Jensen's back and shoulders, and Jensen followed him with a low guttural noise.

Even then they didn't talk much. Jensen pulled out and dropped the condom and collapsed, breathing loud and harsh, but wrapped his arms around Jared and didn't seem inclined to say his goodbyes. Jared stretched himself out with little whining noises of contentment, deliberately flexed and stretched his feet and rolled his thighs out in hip sockets to make sure he wasn't kinked up anywhere, then buried his face in the crook of Jensen's neck. He was trying to remember things about after-sex etiquette he was pretty sure he'd never known.

A few hours later, Jared was sitting on the seat in the shower with his feet soaking in a basin, door mostly closed to keep in the light. Jensen pushed open the door with the faintest of knocks, boxer shorts back on. "You okay?" he asked, shoulders high and tense looking.

Jared started, frozen comically with a finger cleaning between his toes. "Yeah, uh, I just had to do this…" 

"It's just." Jensen shrugged, fidgeted. "I mean, you got up, and if that was my cue to get out, sorry for being an ass."

"No," Jared said, putting his foot down on the towel (the good towel, fluffy and properly absorbent and hung on a hook outside the bathroom so it would dry all the way). "I mean, I really did have to do this. It's not like I was thinking about it in the shower before, but blisters and calluses and, you know, and fungus, really it's not pretty-- and I can't believe I just said the f-word to you, you'll never sleep with me again, but really I was just trying to not wake you up. I want you to stay," he finished in a mumble, looking back down at his feet.

Jensen knelt, wincing a little as his knees hit the bathroom floor. Before Jared could stop him, he'd settled and lifted one side of the towel over Jared's foot, smoothing his hand over the instep and around the back of Jared's ankle. "Finish with the other one," he said.

Jared finished, sweat and dead skin all washed away and every crevice clean, and set his right foot down on the towel next to the left. Jensen lifted the left a little awkwardly, tried to figure out how to get it balanced on his knee, squeezed the midfoot gingerly. 

"You'd be amazed how tough those are, really." 

Jensen glanced up at that and gave a smile, maybe the first real smile Jared had seen from him, because it sent crinkles fanning out from the corner of his eyes. But then he really did dig in, thumbs right down into the sole, in long strokes over the arch and little circles in the flesh of Jared's heel and hard points of pressure under the balls of his feet, then more firm strokes between the cords on Jared's instep.

Jared let his head fall back and moaned.

"You sound downright pornographic," Jensen said, switching for the other foot. Jared let out another long noise. 

"Practice and you could probably make me come from that."

"Well, now, there's a goal." 

"It's good to have goals," Jared answered with a grin, as he poured out the basin and made sure he was completely dry. 

They turned off the bathroom light stumbled back to bed in the dark, leaning on each other, pausing only to untangle the mess of the blankets. But before he dropped off to sleep again, Jared felt Jensen's hand slide up the back of his neck, card in his hair. 

"When's your call? Tomorrow?" 

"Uh. No matinée. Not 'til like two." 

Jensen nodded, a motion felt against Jared's hair, but not seen. "Mine's the same." 

The silence of the unasked question hung in the air for a few moments before Jared got up his courage. "Plenty of time to have some fun again, then." 

Jensen did it again, fingers in his hair, then the pads of his fingers dragging firmly down the back of Jared's neck. Maybe Jared was tenser than he thought he was. "Actually, I thought maybe I could buy you some breakfast." 

"You have any idea how much I eat?" Jared asked, immediate reflex to deflect. 

Again that hard, steadying rake of fingers over the back of his skull, behind his ears, down his neck. "You could hang out in the lounge with me. We could bring a pack of cards and win some money off Tom. You'd like him." 

"No performers in the lounge," Jared said, suddenly aware that his hands were shaking.

Jensen's hand left his head and gripped his shoulder hard. "Well, that's bullshit. You're with me." 

It took a long, long time for Jared to be able to get his breathing under control to answer. When he did, Jensen was already asleep, dragged under by heat and physical satisfaction in the witching-hour quiet of the tiny apartment. Jared propped himself up just a little, watching the face that already seemed so much more familiar than it should, lashes against his cheek and freckles over his nose both obscured by the darkness but still perfectly clear in his mind's eye. 

"Yeah. I'd like that," he said, just moving his mouth around the words, not waking Jensen. Then he settled back down and went to sleep.


End file.
